


The "I" In Lie

by anotherjadedwriter



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Age Difference, Bulges and Nooks, Cheating Partner, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-19
Updated: 2017-03-19
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherjadedwriter/pseuds/anotherjadedwriter
Summary: I put the I-I-I-I-I in lie, cuz I'm a cheat cheat cheat, I'm a cheat cheat cheat.--You don’t think of yourself as a mate-stealing sort of troll. You have, in fact, pretty well stayed to your lane, as it were. You never slept around, or whatever. Even if you thought about it.But Rufioh doesn't deserve him, anyway.





	

You don’t think of yourself as a mate-stealing sort of troll. You have, in fact, pretty well stayed to your lane, as it were. You never slept around, or whatever. Even if you thought about it.

But killing Mindfang kind of made it hard to see her, and then you met your shitty younger self in the dreambubbles, and you met his matesprit and your pusher just about shattered. A blueblood, with long hair and big eyes and a soft, stuttering little voice that made your mouth go dry. And that shitty self of yours, he doesn’t know what he has. Had. You look at that blueblood and your throat gets tight, but Rufioh, he’s fucking off flirting with the ex that what, killed them? You weren’t paying much attention to the backstory.

With the meetings, you were able to, almost painfully easily, sneak Horuss away. Horuss, the name feels familiar but you don’t know how. You sneaked him off and talked to him, learning that his name is Horuss and that he’s 11 sweeps old (you feel like a cavern robber but you’re dead anyway), that he’s an inventor and that he smiles because he’s terrified of being the cause of unhappiness and that he’s precious, moreso than you’d even imagined.

And now, he’s in your hive, breathing softly against your collarbone while you lean past him on the couch. He’s shorter than you, with these wide hips that you want to grab. He’s adorable. When you lean back, holding the cup in your hand now, he breathes out sharply, his eyes close, and you can’t not kiss him.

Softly, of course. He’s soft, you can’t hurt him. He gasps, cool breath against your lips, but presses forward. His nose bumps yours and you chuckle, hand coming up to tilt his head to the side. You drop the cup, because it was his and it’s empty and you want to put both hands on his face. His goggles fog up and you can’t help but grin, pulling back to work the fasten while he avoids your eyes.

“What’s wrong?” You get his goggles off and his eyes are even prettier without them, ringed by a sore-looking blue that you want to kiss, but don’t. Let him talk, Nitram.

He takes a second to respond, folding his goggles to put them aside. “I feel bed, seeing you when I’m still with Rufioh. I’m not being hypocritical, am I?” His hands rest on your shoulders and you forget how to think for a moment.

“No.” You start, then pause. “It’s not black and white. You’re not happy with him.” He almost interrupts you, but stops before he does. “And he’s, I mean. Horuss, you know Rufioh’s sleeping around, don’t you? It’s not like you’re in a real relationship. It’s not cheating, but you are attached. Don’t cry, please.” You gasp, holding his face while he sniffles.

He doesn’t cry, but he does dab at his eyes. “Sorry.” You shush him a little, but he keeps talking. “I’m not used to having it just laid out like that. I, I don’t want to leave. Can I kiss you again?” He licks his lips and your pusher stutters. You nearly crawl into his lap right there.

“Any time.” You can’t rethink how cheesy you sound because he’s kissing you and his tongue is cold against your lip and in your mouth and you feel your bulge twitch in its sheathe.

He ends up crawling into your lap, and you hold his hips while he kisses you breathless. You can feel his nook through his pants and it makes you want to bite him. Then he leans his head back a little and you see his pretty throat and you do, sinking your teeth in and shivering at the mousy noise he makes. You’re purring low in your throat by the time he gasps out your title (it’s ingratiating that he didn’t say your name, because that’s also his name, and it would be weird) and pushes your head back to kiss you again.

Now his nook is definitely pressing down against your sheathe, and he rolls his hips after a few seconds to move things along. You take it as permission to start undressing him, the brass buttons of his coat popping open easily and the heavy thud as you slide it down his arms to the floor. Then he’s in, essentially, a tank top and shorts and long socks, and your bulge is out just at that. His tongue flicks over his lips, this pretty bruised blue, and you shove your hands under his shirt, desperate for skin, to feel his pulse thrumming under your fingers like it was under your teeth.

Horuss isn’t a virgin, you know that because if that shitstain of an alt is like you, he wouldn’t take Horuss’ advances sitting down. He peels his shirt off and while you’re feeling up his front (STRONG, of course, but soft in a way that makes your mouth water), he unbuttons his shorts, bottom lip caught between his teeth and his eyes half-lidded.

Rolling, you take the weight off your wings and get him on his back, pressed into the couch and giggling softly, his cheeks flushed and his eyes shining, and he looks so happy you can’t not kiss him, cover his face with delicate kisses and get at his throat with more bites while you wrestle out of your pants, shoving them open and not going any farther because he’s kicking his shorts off and his bulge is blue and looks heavy and curled against his stomach.

But under it, between his thighs and wet and dark blue and looking perfect, is his nook. And you don’t need more than that to move down, hook his legs over your horns, and press your mouth against his nook. He gasps, a jolt rolling through him, and you can almost taste the deep, pleased moan he makes, shuffling his legs a little and giving you better access. He’s still cooler than you under your tongue, in your hand when you stroke his bulge a few times, but not as much as you’d thought he would be. He tastes like clean sweat, and he squirms against your mouth, gasping out little, high-pitched noises that make your horns tingle.

This is something you’ve been good at since your second time pailing. You know what feels good, and you know that when he makes a soft, startled chirp, his hands twitching on the cushion, you’re doing exactly what he wants you to. His knees tighten a bit, pressing you closer and putting a nice pressure on your horns, and you move your other hand from groping the front of your pants to try and stimulate your bulge to press a finger into him. He’s tight which shouldn’t be and isn’t surprising but damn if it isn’t nice.

His nook sucks your finger in when you pull it out and he murmurs something when you slide another in. As you’re thrusting slowly, because you’re careful, he huffs, shifting.

“Ah, Summoner? Can we move a little uh, faster?” He asks, his voice still that nice breathy that makes your bulge press against the front of your pants. “I was getting close.”

Your ears flush and you hum, stuffing another finger into him and going back to eating his nook like you’re starving. If he wants to go faster, you can definitely do that. He croons when you start to thrust your hand faster, until it’s making an audible sound, from your palm hitting his skin, and in just a few minutes, he’s writhing, his legs squirming off your horns to press into the couch, pushing him further against your mouth as his gasps get higher and more desperate, your title rolling off his tongue and his nook fluttering around his fingers.

He cums with a shudder and a low noise and you chase him to push him through it, managing to pin his thigh to the couch and hold him still only, you assume, because he just came and he’s gasping and shaking and his head is falling back and, gods, you pull away from his nook licking your lips because he’s still presenting himself to you and clicking and you want to fuck him until he can’t walk.

You get your pants off faster than you ever have and he reaches down to pull his bulge out of the way, flushed and smiling and wet (you should have put a towel down). You stroke your bulge and he looks at it appreciatively, his other hand moving from groping at his chest to lead you into him. It’s cool, tight and wet and perfect, you feed your bulge into him quick and direct, not pausing to rock your hips, just watching his face go from floating calm to deliciously contorted to panting and begging for more, hips stuttering up to push against yours.

And that’s fucking perfect. You grip his hips and start fucking him hard, pushing him into the couch because he’s enjoying it more than you even, gripping at the arm and the back and moaning, and you lean in close to bite his throat before talking again. “You’re fucking gorgeous, aren’t you?” He mewls the affirmative, eyes wide and on you like he’s never heard that before. “Pretty fucking blueblood. Want me to keep you around?” You’re panting, but he doesn’t seem any less delighted, his hands moving to grab your horns and pull you into a kiss.

“Please.” He breathes, just away from your lips, and you’re pretty sure your pusher literally breaks because he has this pitiful look on his face and you can see his pan working, trying to be confident as possible even if he isn’t, and you kiss him again, half muffling him. “Please.”

You’re slowing, because he’s getting twitchy and you want to really work him over, when his pants jingle. You grab his phone before he does, and he mutters a little but doesn’t grab for it, apparently too pleased to worry about it. You’d have ignored it too, if the text hadn’t been from that shitblood of a dancestor of yours.

“Where are you?” Like he even cares. Like he’s concerned with the poor guy’s happiness. Like he’s ready to kiss and coddle and flush for this blueblood and deserves to know where he is. You tap it twice, pull up the camera, and take a picture of Horuss under you, his face pressed to the soft side of his arm and his hand curling around his bulge, with bronze and blue splattered on his thighs.

Looking well-fucked and happy and gorgeous, with his nook stretched on your bulge. You shut the phone off once you send it, leaning in to kiss him, your nose bumping his when he turns his head sharply, his hands grabbing at you to pull you closer and his voice almost completely a croon when he tells you “please, I’m so close. Spill in me, please.”

And holy shit, this blueblood is your automatic favorite. You kiss him again, moving faster, taking over on his bulge to get him off (you’ll have to try him out, you think, if he’s this composed). It only takes a few more moments, your face pressed to his neck and his skin dark blue with bruises as you bite him, lick him, rub your scent on him because Rufioh can’t have him back, you’re not giving him another chance for that.

His hands almost grab your wings when he grabs you, but you flutter them away. He doesn’t notice or mention it, just grabs you and presses his face to your chest and sobs these heaving, happy, nearly joyful moans as he comes, material spilling over his stomach and onto the couch, over your hand. His nook flutters deliciously, pulling you in as deep as possible and working you over the edge as well. He writhes when you fill him, his bulge giving another pitiful spurt of material before he just lays limp and struggling to catch his breath under you.

You can’t help yourself. You boot his phone up, pulling out to watch your material drip from his nook, and pull up the string of upset texts from Rufioh, sending a great shot of your adorable little flushcrush totally fucked out and a };), then tossing it away and smothering him in kisses.

Eventually, you move to your block, sinking into your coon with him pressed to your chest and kissing your jaw with little fluttery kisses, giggling when you call him precious and holding himself close to you. Eventually you fall asleep. After a little more making out and groping, because you can’t keep your hands off him, not when he says that no one called him pretty before and that you’re handsome and his ears flush when you compliment him again.

This troll is yours. Rufioh doesn’t deserve him.

**Author's Note:**

> it was that or secrets and this isn't secret at all lmao. I like this ship but it took someone commissioning me to write it, weirdly. mb I'll write some more.  
> if you enjoyed this, consider tipping me here: https://ko-fi.com/A781PZJ


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